Three Days in Heaven

“You know I’ve got about a zillion questions.”

“OK, shoot.”

With some hesitation, I ask, “Why do you allow all the suffering in the world?”

He is quick to respond, and I get an earful.

“You blame me for that? It has to be the number-one complaint I hear about, and this is my answer—you people do it to yourselves. You can’t lay it on me. I gave you free will.”

Pointing to the garden, He says, “Go ask those two about free will. I gave them a perfect world, and what was my thanks? Disobedience, that’s what. They acted like two little brats, and they got punished.”

He tones the rhetoric down, then asks, “You have kids, what would you have done?”

A little angered, say, “I wouldn’t have kicked them out of the house.”

Wow! Where did that come from? I’m in Heaven, or at least nearby, and I’m having an argument with God. I don’t know about you, but I’m overwhelmed. Saying an angry prayer in solitude is one thing, but a face-to-face debate with The Almighty is very unnerving.

“So, Mister Know-It-All,”— then asks in a firm tone, — “again I ask, what would you have done? Ground them? Or maybe put them in time out? Their single act of disobedience set the tone for the rest of you. I created only good; they are the originators of suffering, not me. You want someone to blame?”

God points again and says, “Start with them.”

Reorganizing my thoughts and remembering who I am talking to, I humbly say, “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“You didn’t make me mad, Tony. You’re not the first, nor the last who wants me to fix everything. Like I said, you people do it to yourselves. If I had wanted robots, I would have made robots. It would have been a lot simpler now that I think about it.”

He gets up and walks away.

Under my breath, I mumble, “Wish I’d never brought it up.”

He turns to me and asks, “You say something, Tony?”

I also get up and race after Him. I catch up, and in an attempt to recover, I say, “But you kicked them out over an apple?”

Here we go again, and He is not amused.

“Can we forget about the fruit for a minute? That’s not the point— it could’ve been a Twinkie.”

Again, He tones it down a little, and I say to myself, Thank God!

About ten steps ahead of me, He says, “You’re welcome. Now, let’s start over, and I’ll try to keep it as simple as ABC. You have three precious little ones, and you sit them down for a family meeting. You tell them they can have anything in the pantry to snack on. Everything in the house their little tummies can handle, but don’t under any circumstances touch the chocolate chip cookies… period.”

Then He begins to mimic in a childlike voice: “But why Daddy? Why can’t we have any of the chocolate chip cookies? Because I said so! Capiche? You are free to eat from any other bag of candy or goodies in the house, but not those… get it? It’s called obedience.”

Again, mocking in a child’s voice: “But why, Daddy?”

Then answering Himself in a loud, thunderous voice, says, “Because those are the forbidden chocolate chip cookies of the knowledge of good and evil, and when you eat of them, you will surely die, all because you disobeyed one tiny little rule!”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?” I ask.

“You’re right, after all, they are little kids. I’d tone it back a notch or two. Let’s return to the story. You go outside and do some yard work, create a new galaxy or whatever. Now, while your back is turned, one tempts the other, a debate ensues over should we, or shouldn’t we? One of them takes a bite and the other caves in. And when they eat of the cookie, they find themselves naked and ashamed. After that, you toss them out of the garden because they couldn’t keep their hands off the chocolate chip cookies! If you’d like to know about all the stuff in the middle, read the book.”

“You win.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

He lectures me about all the wrong in the world and where it all began.

“You see, Tony, every once in a while, you people need a little spanking to put you back in line.”

“A spanking to Him is probably code for a famine.”

“Did you say something?”

“Just thinking.”

With a hint of a chuckle, God points to His head.

“Around here, it’s best to keep thoughts out of your head or at least a long way from me.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

Too afraid to ask any more questions, I spend a moment enjoying the surroundings.

As we take in the view, I say, “It is beautiful up here.”

He gazes out at the horizon.

“I like it.”

“Were you ever mortal?”

“Tried it, not my style. Jesus did though. I sent him to scope things out and spread the word, and we know how it turned out. I made the planets for you people. Heaven is my home. I’ll just stay put —for now.”

I got up a little nerve and say, “Yeah, I know how it turned out, but you were the one who sent him to die.”

He turns to me, with a soul-piercing look I had not seen before, then calmly asks, “And?”

Between the look, and His austere and I timidly ask, “How could you do such a thing?”

The expression on His face has been overshadowed by his response.

“I didn’t send him to die. We both knew the plan way ahead of time, but you people killed him, and after everything I have seen, you have gotten very skilled at it. If everyone were as good at loving each other as they are at killing, the world would be a much better place.”

A little bravery sets in and I ask, “If you knew it would happen, why did you send Him?”

“You are right, Tony. It was a tough decision, but one which had to be made regardless of the outcome.”

“I could never do it… I mean, give up my own child.”

“Not even to save all of humanity?”

I ponder over the question for a few moments, then lower my head in shame and say, “I couldn’t, not my son.”

He put His arm around me.

“Well, Tony… this is why I am God, and you are not. Over the span of the eons, I’ve made some tough decisions, and I do not regret a single one of them. I have punished many for their unfaithfulness and evil deeds, and I sent my son to clear up the mess. Jesus wasn’t the first nor will He be the last I have sent who will die in the name of faith. You’re the next in the lineup.”

In a panic, I exclaim, “What?”

“Don’t worry Tony, you probably won’t die.”

I nervously reply, “Probably?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine, — most likely.”

I don’t even bother asking. God continues to talk about His messengers of faith.

“Although he is a terrible golfer, Moses was a great leader and made many sacrifices for his faith. It was no dance in the park for David either. Many others died because of their faith, and some with it. Daniel, Abraham, James, and John all made sacrifices because of faith. Even some of the youngsters like Tyndale and Luther did too. The list is endless. All of them were sent to spread the word of hope and faith. Let me tell you this, Tony, I did not send Jesus to die a torturous death on a tree, although it was a necessary step. It was more of a means to an end.”

“What do you mean?”

“His death symbolized and cleansed an unclean world, and I sent the others to do the same. Unlike them, I used His resurrection as a testament to you hard-heads once and for all, I am that I am and will always be.”

Reflecting on His words, I recall a passage in the Bible. It reads: He is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. Right now love, compassion, and grace are succeeded by anger.

He stands up in front of me, shaking His fist.

“Millions of my children were murdered by a madman because of their faith!”

God sits back down next to me, clasps His hands together, and shakes His head.

“It’s so sad.”

“Will you ever go back?”

With a touch of quiet anger, His answer is brief and to the point.

“One day I will. And when I do, it won’t be for a visit.”

Out of nowhere, Moses appears, complete with a staff and long, flowing robe.

God asks, “Aren’t we a little over dramatic with the outfit and props?”

He ignores Him and speaks to me.

“I know I’ve been edgy and in a bit of a mood for a few millenniums, but He’s right. You people have been screwing it up from the beginning, starting with those nitwits in the garden, and it’s about time you folks get your act together.”

Moses continues.

“Keep sinning,” —he holds up one finger; “strike one.”

“Stay unrepentant,” —then holds up two; “strike two.”

“Remain unfaithful,” —and a third finger goes up— “strike three.”

I listen in amazement... but mostly fear.

“And if you people continue down the pathway you are heading—game over. God did the flood all by Himself, but this time, I will be at His side when He pulls the trigger. And when He does, take my advice, — duck.”

God responds with a loud, “Amen, brother!”

“A while back, I was given a few simple set of rules,”— turning to God, — “that I accidentally dropped.”

Moses looks back at me.

“He gave them to us to live by, but you people,”—then pokes me with his staff— “especially lawyers, have created thousands of meaningless laws in an attempt to diminish and replace God’s law. It doesn’t take a legal genius to decipher not to steal or murder. When you go back, tell those people they need to remember, they are commandments; not suggestions. That’s all I have to say.”

There is still some time away from a setting sun, and Moses looks out across the meadow.

“Tony, it’s about time. You gotta scoot. See you again real soon.”

“How soon?”

He chuckles and says, “It’ll be awhile—trust me.”

Moses extends his hand, and I do the same. In the firmest handshake I can recall, he says, “It’s been a privilege meeting you. You’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”

Then he turns, raises his staff and begins to float up.

We watch as Moses ascends into the clouds.

God utters, “What a show-off. He always has to make a dramatic exit.”

After he floated off, I worry for a moment that his “a while” and my “a while” may be two different things. But he was right, I have a lot of work ahead of me and pray I’m the right guy.